


Don't Stray From The Path

by Angieenigma



Category: GOT7
Genre: Big Bad Jackson, Fantasy, Little Red Riding Hood AU, M/M, Red Riding Mark, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5882779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angieenigma/pseuds/Angieenigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark is lost in the woods, only his blood red hoodie to keep him warm, when he gets the feeling he's being followed.  Out of the shadows slinks a wolf, but it is not snarling, and its eyes are dark and sparking with mischief.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The trees loom overhead in the way they do only when one is lost. Mark is lost. Clouds are choking the sky, swathing the forest in gloom, and Mark shivers. It is not cold yet, but he shakes the sleeves of his red hoodie over his hands regardless. The chill isn’t coming from the temperature. Whipping his head around, Mark searches the darkness, trying to calm the anxiety skating down his spine.

There is no fanfare, no sound at all, to indicate when one part of the darkness separates from the rest.

Out of the shadows slinks a wolf, but it is not snarling, and its eyes are dark and sparking with mischief. Its inky fur blends into the backdrop of the woods. The wolf halts mere paces away from him, and Mark is frozen. Then the wolf leaps, and Mark thinks the force of paws hitting his chest is painful, at least until his back hits the forest floor hard enough to make dark spots blot his vision. When his focus returns, he locks eyes with the beast. They are fierce, to be sure, but Mark searches their depths for the killing instinct and finds none.

In a few drawn out, inexplicable seconds, the wolf on top of Mark shifts, and he finds himself pinned to the ground by a muscular man with dark hair and the same wolfish eyes that are shining with mirth.

“You shouldn't be out here alone. Pretty things can get hurt,” he said in a deep, faintly melodic voice.

Mark's breath hitches in his chest. He should feel threatened. He should be terrified. He should try to escape, but the man’s demeanor is keeping Mark pinned to the ground rather than his weight. Mark can't find his voice to reply, although he doesn't know what he would say if he could. The man leans down and takes a deep breath right above Mark's neck, and alarm bells start ringing in Mark's head.

Before Mark can will feeling into his limbs, the man snaps his head up and stares into the trees. The playful aura is gone, and Mark can feel the man's body tense where they are touching. He tries not to let his thoughts dwell on that too much. The man looks back down at Mark, dark eyes sharp and alert, and presses a finger to his lips. Mark had not made a sound aside from a grunt when he hit the ground during their interactions up to this point, so he isn't sure how much quieter he can be.

As the man cautiously lifts himself off of Mark, he realizes that the man is, as he feared, completely naked. Mark shoves all thoughts related to the subject to the back of his mind when he hears an inhuman wail that freezes the blood in his veins.

The naked man grabs for his hand, and Mark reflexively tries to shake him off. The man catches his arm and yanks him close enough for Mark to feel his hot breath on the side of his neck. Fear, wonder, and a hint of arousal, all fueled by adrenaline, make up an emotional cocktail that is coursing through Mark's system, and he feels the heat rising in his face.

"There are things in this forest that are more dangerous than I am," the man whispers in Mark's ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

When he pulls back, the man stares into Mark's eyes, as if searching for something, but Mark does not know what it is. All Mark can feel are his eyes stinging from his sudden inability to blink. Whatever the man was looking for, he seems to be satisfied as his lips curl slightly, though he never loses the wary tension in his body. Mark imagines his wolf ears quivering, trying to detect the presence of...whatever-it-is.

The man slides his hand down Mark's arm and grasps his hand firmly. Mark is entranced by his dark eyes, and when the man starts off at a swift yet stealthy pace, Mark allows himself to be pulled along.

The man makes nary a sound as he steps through the foliage, light on his feet and unfazed by the branches scratching at his bare skin. Mark, on the other hand, is managing to keep up, but his footsteps break twigs and rustle leaves, and he feels the sharp pain of branches whipping his face. He can see the man in front of him flinch every time Mark makes a noise, and the man is not the only one who hears.

Another spine-unhinging wail comes from behind them, slightly louder than before. Mark can't catch the whimper before it leaves his lips, and the man whips around, staring straight past Mark, who does not dare turn around.

The word comes out of the man's mouth as a growl that shakes Mark to the core, and his mind whispers doubt that this man is a better option that whatever is behind them.

"Run."

They do. The wailing has turned into a ear-splitting screech. Streaking through the trees, Mark ignores the burning in his chest. His legs are spurred on by the inexplicable sounds chasing him.

The man skids to an unexpected halt, and Mark runs straight into him. He feels hands wrap around his upper arms to steady him, but then he is hurled forward. Mark's body has a reunion with the unforgiving ground, and he rolls to a stop at the base of an enormous tree. Breathing in short gasps, Mark tries to prop himself up on his forearms and look back at the man.

The figure in front of him hunches forward, and in that same strange, fluid movement becomes a huge black wolf once more.

Out of the darkness in between the trees comes an ethereal mass of gray and white. The creature is roughly human shaped, but the air around it warps and twists into something nightmarish. When it opens its ghastly mouth to screech again, Mark braces himself.

The roar that erupts from the jaws of the wolf, however, drowns out everything. It's savage, snarling, brutal, and nothing like any sound an ordinary wolf should be able to emit. Mark feels his chest seize up as goosebumps rise on his skin and his fingers dig into the dirt. The nightmare creature recoils, and the wolf roars again. This time, Mark buries his face in the forest floor and covers his head with his arms, fingers twisting into his red hair. There's another, much quieter wail from the creature, but it fades into nothingness. Mark doesn't raise his head, and his entire body is shaking.

The feeling of a gentle hand on his back causes Mark to still, slowly releasing his grip on his hair and glancing to the side. He's met with warm, dark eyes that are sparking with mischief. Mark unfolds himself and struggles to a sitting position, groaning at the aches of his undoubtedly bruised body. The man is smiling at him, wide and happy, but Mark isn't comforted.

"I--” his voice cracks, throat dry. Swallowing, he starts again, "I thought you said...there were things more dangerous than you."

The man in front of him smirks, and Mark can almost see the tips of his fangs past his lips.

"It's possible, but I..." he says, "I am the big bad wolf."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing the second chapter as you're reading this, hold on to your tits.  
> EDIT: Obviously there's a second chapter now, but you may continue holding on to your tits if you like.
> 
> I know I describe Jackson's eyes twice verbatim. I did that on purpose. If you didn't notice, that's fine. I'm just paranoid that someone will notice and /SMACKDOWN me.
> 
> Stellar is the one who came up with "You shouldn't be out here alone. Pretty things can get hurt."


	2. Chapter 2

“I am the big bad wolf,” he says, “but you can call me Jackson.”

Mark does not answer immediately. Instead, he takes in the sight of Jackson. His hair is as dark as his wolf form’s fur, and it is just as wild. The playful eyes are underlined by strong cheekbones and a sharp jaw. Mark can’t stop his gaze from slipping down the broad shoulders, muscular arms, and miles of smooth skin to the trail of dusky hairs leading down to...

Blushing, Mark snaps his attention back to the wolf-man kneeling in front of him with an expectant expression on his handsome face. If Jackson objected to Mark’s ogling, he certainly did not show it. Eventually, common etiquette overtakes Mark’s lecherous thoughts.

“I’m Mark.”

“Why were you out in the forest? Were you lost?” asks Jackson, resembling an excited puppy far more than a fearsome beast. Mark doesn’t have time to reply before Jackson continues, “Didn’t anyone tell you not to come this far into the forest alone? You know you shouldn’t stray from the path, right? Why did you? Do you like exploring?”

Why does he ask so many questions? Mark thinks.

The events of the recent past trickle through his confusion, and questions of his own are demanding his attention. Jackson does not seem to require pauses for breath, and Mark decides he can’t wait for an opening.

“What was that thing?” he asks. His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but Jackson immediately stops his stream of words to listen.

Blinking innocently, Jackson says, “Something that will never come here again.”

Mark tries and fails to find this comment menacing.

The mention of the creature appears to remind Jackson that they had just been running for their lives, and he extends a hesitant hand toward Mark’s face. Mark realizes that his cheeks and forehead are stinging. He reaches up instinctively, and stupidly, to touch his face and winces.

Jackson’s brow is knit with concern, and Mark watches his eyes darken impossibly further as he regards his cuts. Jackson’s brushes aside a few strands of crimson hair to examine the laceration on his forehead, and Mark’s heart is writhing in his chest. He yelps when Jackson lifts his hoodie and shirt off without warning or ceremony, and he wants to object to this treatment, he really does, but the words dissolve on his tongue when he sees the way Jackson is looking at him.

Gentle fingers brush over the planes of Mark’s torso, searching for more injuries, and Mark takes a sharp breath. Bruises will be decorating his body by tomorrow. Jackson snaps his gaze up to Mark’s at the inhale, but Mark can’t discern his expression. Then Jackson breathes deeply through his nose, pupils blowing wide, and it becomes clear.

“You smell so good...” he says, voice dropped a full octave.

Mark doesn’t move away when Jackson leans in and places his hands on his shoulders, but he is trembling with nerves. What is left of the air between them is saturated with an emotion Mark cannot name.

Rubbing his thumbs into the dips of Mark’s clavicles, Jackson says, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to eat you...” and he is pulling Mark closer, closer until they are breathing each other’s breath. The next words are whispered deep enough for Mark to feel them rumble in his bones. “Unless you want me to.”

Mark releases a groan, a sound he certainly had not intended to make, and Jackson buries his face in Mark’s neck, wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist.

Mark feels hot, like he’s immolating from within. There are very few thoughts that can make themselves heard through the haze inside his head, and he feels an overwhelming pull from deep in his chest. The feeling has been building up since he first stared into Jackson’s eyes, the fire in them spreading underneath his skin. Jackson is pressing his tongue over Mark’s racing pulse, and Mark wants.

He slides his hands up the twitching muscles of Jackson’s back and twists them into his hair. Jackson growls, and the sound fills Mark’s stomach with arousal rather than fear. There is feverish breath leaving moisture beading along Mark’s neck, and he is close to thrashing in Jackson’s hands. When Jackson draws back, his eyes are smoldering. Mark sees more wolf than man in his hungry gaze.

Their lips clash, and it is messy and sharp and hot. Mark feels lightheaded as he melds their mouths together, clinging to Jackson as if he can’t get close enough. Jackson is kissing him with fervor and running his teeth along Mark’s lip.

Mark tastes blood.

Jackson leaps away as if he has been shocked, and Mark touches his mouth. He stares at the blood shining on his fingertip, then lifts his head to look at Jackson. The man is sporting such a guilty expression that Mark expects his tail would be tucked between his legs if he were a wolf. Mark wipes the blood on his discarded hoodie, and it blends into the the red material. After pulling his clothes back on, Mark turns around and finds himself nose to nose with Jackson.

They stare at each other in silence for many beats of Mark’s still-racing heart. Jackson looks like he wants to say something, but he only blinks at Mark, dark eyes filled with apprehension.

Finally, he says, “It’ll be dark soon.” His voice sounds almost pained.

Mark gazes up at the pinkening sky. “My grandmother will be wondering where I am,” he says, and feels a thread of panic string through his heart. He looks at Jackson helplessly. “I don’t...I don’t know where her cottage is now.”

Jackson brightens up a bit at this, and Mark immediately relaxes.

“There’s only one human woman who lives in these woods. Her cottage is only half a mile that way,” he says pointing.

Mark eyes the trees, the wails of the departed creature echoing in his head. He shivers, then he feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing will bother you,” he says. At Mark’s confused expression, he clears his throat self-consciously and continues, “You carry my scent.”

Mark felt blood rush to his cheeks. A thought breaks its way through his embarrassment.

“The creatures of this forest fear you that much?”

“I love this color,” Jackson says, ignoring Mark and playing with one of the strings on his hoodie. When he looks back up at Mark, his eyes are once again dancing with hope and playfulness. “Will you be back?”

Mark steps close to Jackson, fingers brushing strands of his wild, dark hair from his face. Jackson seems to be holding his breath, and Mark smiles softly as he slots their lips together. This kiss is sweet and slow, juxtaposing their previous actions. Mark draws away before it can deepen, and Jackson chases after him for one more peck.

“I’ll be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided that some things just sound better with comma splices. My Grammar and Editing professor would hit me on the head with an MLA handbook.
> 
> I don’t know what the creature was, thus Jackson takes the opportunity to fluff his ego. Probably some sort of banshee.
> 
> DING DANG IT, I let some stupid humor sneak in. I can’t help it.


	3. Chapter 3

True to Jackson’s words, Mark is undisturbed as he walks through the woods toward his grandmother’s house. To pass the time and distract himself from thoughts of what might be hiding in the descending darkness, Mark tries to mimic Jackson’s movements and tread lightly over the foliage. Now that he is concentrating, his footsteps are marginally quieter than the crash of cymbals.

A sound jars Mark out of his trance, and he looks up to see the side of a familiar cottage through the next line of trees. Again, He hears the sound, an odd cracking noise, from the opposite side of the cottage. Thinking of all the horrible things in the forest that might be coming to prey on his vulnerable grandmother, Mark breaks into a sprint. Another crack echoes around the clearing.

Mark skids around the corner of the house to see his grandmother raising an axe high above her head. As he gapes, she swings the axe with her spindly arms and slices a piece of timber in two. Straightening up, she regards Mark with sharp brown eyes.

“You’re supposed to be doing this, you know.”

Mark is speechless.

“Well, come here, you scoundrel. Put these with the rest,” she continues, dusting her wrinkled hands on her skirt.

Mark complies without thinking or taking his eyes off of his purportedly frail and ailing grandmother. She is slightly bent, but she carries herself with an air that demands respect. The last time Mark had seen her was the past autumn when she had emerged from the woods in a rickety, donkey-drawn cart. Despite Mark’s parents’ efforts to convince her to live with them after Mark’s grandfather’s death, she had refused. Resigned to her stubbornness, Mark’s family had accepted the situation.

That was before Mark knew about the creatures that lurk away from the beaten path.

“That’s my boy. Now, are you going to come greet your old halmeoni or not?”

Her lined face is smiling, and Mark recognizes the expression. It reminds him of handmade quilts that were warmer than any other blanket and of one more story before bedtime even though his mother told them to say goodnight.

Mark smiles in return, feeling the relief of familiarity ground him after the events of the recent past, and gathers his grandmother into his arms. She chuckles and rubs a soothing hand over his back.

“I thought you were sick,” Mark says to the top of her head. He withdraws when she laughs again, short and loud.

“I only told my son that so he would send you. Why don’t you visit me more often?”

Mark thinks of unearthly wails and sharp claws. He frowns slightly, but before he can respond, his grandmother's fingers are hovering over Mark’s cheek.

“It seems you had an adventure getting here,” she murmurs. When Mark remains silent, she hooks her arm into his. “Come in, then. Let’s hear it.”

 

That night, Mark is staring at the ceiling while lost inside his own head. After his grandmother had cleaned him up and placed a cup of tea in his hands, he had only divulged a fragmented story about being chased by a creature that was scared away by another. Even Mark had a difficult time believing his words, but his grandmother had accepted the tale with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

Mark wonders what she could possibly know when he himself knows only confusion and doubt. Aside from the very tangible proof of the cuts on his face and the bruises blossoming like sickly flowers over his torso, he could have imagined the encounter. Perhaps he fell into a ditch, roughed himself up, and hit his head.

Closing his eyes, Mark considers this possibility.

_The wolf appears silently, as if it has coalesced from the very shadows. Mark is not scared. The wolf knocks him over--maybe knocking him out momentarily. He does not remember, but he is not scared. The wolf turns into a man with burning eyes and sharp teeth. Mark is not scared. The closer the man gets, the more Mark is drawn in. Somehow, the danger is attracting him rather than repelling him. While all rational sense indicates he should run away, Mark only wants to stay close to the man, Jackson, and follow him away from the path._

_Even the fear Mark feels as they are pursued by the horrifying creature is muted in Jackson’s presence, with Jackson’s hand holding his. Jackson growls, and Mark is intimidated, but primarily awed. He does not have time to ruminate on these feelings as he is caught up in the whirlwind that is Jackson pulling him along as he runs for his life._

_It is only when Jackson roars that Mark is truly afraid. But then the creature is gone, and Jackson is bright, warm, and curious and concerned over Mark’s injuries. Mark is surprised when Jackson switches from worried to sensual in the width of a second, but despite how strange, how forward, how fast, and how wrong the situation should be, Mark is eagerly reciprocating the affections. He has never felt this intensely for someone else, and he wants Jackson with every fiber of his being; on his mouth, his neck, his skin, and all around him._

Mark’s eyes open, and the sensation of his heart hammering against his tender ribs is unmistakable. Jackson is real, and so are the feelings he instills in Mark. It is as if Jackson had cast a spell on him. Mark remembers the enigmatic trinkets and baubles scattered around his grandmother’s house that he had seen in a new light that day. Perhaps Jackson _had_ enchanted him.

When this thought crosses Mark’s mind, he recalls Jackson’s reactions to him. Jackson had not hesitated to protect Mark and rescue him from the nightmare creature, had immediately tuned into Mark’s words when he spoke, and had worried about Mark’s well-being. One of the very first things Jackson had done when they encountered each other was smell him. Mark ponders the way Jackson had reveled in Mark’s scent with his nose buried in Mark’s neck. Is the spell mutual?

Who _is_ Jackson?

Two words echo simultaneously inside Mark’s head.

_Danger. Mine._

 

The next morning, Mark is dressed and outside before he realizes he has actually woken up. His grandmother is sitting in a rocking chair outside the front door and sharpening her axe. Mark opens his mouth to give some excuse for his swift departure, but she simply gives him the same knowing look from before.

"Go on. The forest is calling you, is it not?"

Grateful, Mark kisses her forehead, waves to Michael, his grandmother’s donkey, and walks out to the edge of the clearing in which the cottage sits. Facing the trees, Mark takes a deep breath and steps off the path.

Tracing his path from the previous night is thoughtless in the golden light of morning. Mark allows himself a moment to gaze through the trees, searching the dappled shade for any hint of monsters, and he finds none. Either the comforting presence of daylight is chasing away the nightmares or Mark truly smells of Jackson, whom the nightmares fear enough to eschew thoroughly. No longer surprised by facts that fail to affect him in the manner they should, Mark continues through the woods.

He stops in front of the towering tree beneath which he and Jackson had parted company. There is no sign of Jackson, and Mark remembers they had not specified this as their meeting place, but he knows that this is where he is meant to be. A rustling sound at the base of the tree captures Mark’s attention. Out from the roots and leaves emerges a hulking wolf with midnight colored fur.

The wolf lopes over to him, and he kneels down, smiling as the wolf pushes his snout into Mark’s ear. The cold nose brushing against Mark’s skin causes him to laugh and recoil, drawing his shoulder upwards.

In the next moment, Jackson is in front of him with a smile bright enough to dull the sunshine. He raises his hands to caress Mark’s face, and his words are faintly disbelieving when he says, “You came back.”

Mark leans into the touch as Jackson strokes his thumbs over his cheekbones. “I came back.”

Their lips meet chastely, and that feeling is back; the odd collection of emotions Mark can’t quite label. He chases the sensation and deepens the kiss, and Jackson is happy to oblige him. Before long, Mark is on his back with Jackson in his arms, nosing into the hollow of Mark’s throat. As Jackson leaves butterfly kisses along Mark’s collarbones, Mark discovers a name for the feeling.

Bliss.

Resting, warm and fluttering inside Mark’s chest is a mixture of butterflies, satisfaction, and rightness.

Mark voices the question that had been weighing on his mind since his late night ruminations. “Why did you find me?”

Jackson licks thoughtfully behind Mark’s ear before he responds. “I usually scare people away if I find them straying from the path, otherwise they'll fall victim to the other residents of this forest. But you,” he says and gazes into Mark’s eyes. “You are something else. You smell so wonderful and feel even better. When I looked at you, you weren’t scared. Your eyes were beautiful and calm. Even with a creature from your worst nightmares chasing you, you were brave and ready to trust me. You didn’t run away from me.”

Jackson buries his face back in Mark’s neck, and Mark wraps his arms around Jackson’s shoulders, staring up at the sun beyond the leaves.

“I don’t think I could.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! Since you can’t have any cake, have the finale of this mess. As a bonus for being so patient, I edited the last two chapters (chapter one in microscopic ways that nobody besides me cares about, but I guarantee you, it’s better now, and chapter two by adding enough to possibly warrant another read.)
> 
> “The Nightmare Creature.” That would be a good band name.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was fun to write. I had a good time pulling out my Germanic Mythology and Fairy Tales notes from many semesters ago to brush up on the motifs and analyses of the original story to work into this, although admittedly with a more contemporary twist.


End file.
